...

I feel like my canister is out of gunpowder and colour.

Orange is circling all around

the sun moves across my skin

The air tingles my toes

I am still

I am washed over with joy

I am washed over with sorrow

The ocean carries my body away

My body carries my spirit away

My spirit carries everything away

I am away

Possibly my favourite lines of Shakespeare:

Then, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds

Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;

When down her weedy trophies and herself

Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide.

And, mermaid-like a while they held her up:

Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;

As one incapable of her own distress,

Or like a creature native and indued

Unto that element: but long it could not be

Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,

Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay

To muddy death.

This is a close second:

I do repent; but heaven hath pleas'd it so

To punish me with this, and this with me,

That I must be their scourge and minister.

I will bestow him, and will answer well

The death I gave him. So again good night.

I must be cruel only to be kind.

Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.

Funny that my favourite lines come from Hamlet, when The Merchant of Venice is my favourite play.

I'm not sure what that means. Or if there is any meaning. I'm tired of looking for that. It's tiring.

I think I'm going to get perspective instead.